


It's Hard to Dance with the Devil on Your Back

by ashes0909



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: But remains off-screen, Christmastime, F/M, POV Narcissa Black Malfoy, Voldemort is in the Manor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 23:40:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9351716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashes0909/pseuds/ashes0909
Summary: Narcissa rarely enjoyed any display of emotional excess and still, she’d always adored Christmas.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [etoilecourageuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/etoilecourageuse/gifts).



> A quick thank you for my lovely betas over at the Fanfiction Discord, and amaranthium for sharing this lovely [fic event](http://rarepair-shorts.livejournal.com/583771.html) with me. Also a special thanks to my flyingharmony who caused me to have Florence and the Machine in my head throughout this writing journey.

Narcissa rarely enjoyed any display of emotional excess and still, she’d always adored Christmas.

The garland she had conjured along the wooden banister marked their first decoration of the season. Its color dimmed under the closed-curtained windows. A door slammed in the distance, and in that moment she banished the thought of ordering a house elf to _accio_ the Black Family ornaments from the attic.

Once the three Black sisters reveled in Christmastime. Now, it was far easier to imagine Bellatrix _reducto_ blasting each ornament, than appreciating their memory.

Narcissa conjured a string of light around the tree and knew. This year, they’d have garland and crystal ornaments, green and silver bulbs. Maybe a star on the top of the tree, Draco’s favorite decoration. But she would keep the Black Family ornaments hidden away.

Maybe, soon, things would return to what they once were.

The tree occupied most of the front foyer, but still it looked thin, pale. Another door slammed. She wondered, yet again, about Lucius and when was due to return. He’d chastise her for not calling a house elf to decorate the Manor, but she still missed his presence. Unease curled under her skin, so unlike the anticipation that built in her and her sisters until Christmas Eve, when the gates opened and the noblest of all Wizarding families attended the Black Christmas Ball.

Bellatrix was at the Manor this year. They all were, the Death Eaters, seated in her grand hall where blood and circumstance stained her upholstery more than it ever had before the War.

She raised her wand and transfigured a small spring rug into a skirt for the tree and she could almost smell the crisp apple cider from decades ago. Andromeda’s laugh from her side as she tugged her hand, leading them both to the edge of the dancefloor. Sometimes, when they were younger, the two of them could persuade a disinterested Bellatrix out of her seat and the three of them would spin, hand and hand, to the music.

“Please, sir…,” a man begged from the room across the hall, and Narcissa flicked her wand so Christmas carols sounded from the radio.

This year, she did not want Draco to return. The thought knocked the air from her lungs, her knees weakened until she was seated on the stairwell by the tree. No one could see, and she could still hear the man begging for his life over the Christmas carols. No one would leave the Dark Lord when he had someone pleading before him. No one would notice a mother’s fear for her only child. This place, her home, was now more suited for death than for Christmas.

~~

Lucius returned late that evening, as she sat on the chaise lounge by the tree and watched the light flicker in the ornaments. They all had left, the Manor was silent when the doorknob turned and welcomed a familiar click of a cane against marble.

Her husband bled from his scalp. “Oh, Lucius,” she breathed, and was on her feet and by the door in a few short strides. She led him to the chaise, pushed him to sit. The golden glow of the tree washed over his face as she examined his cut, the light glinted in the blue of his eyes.

“Christmas,” he whispered, his eyes caught on the tree over her shoulder. “I had almost forgotten.” His hand came up, pulling hers away. The cut had been spelled away so only the blood remained. When he tugged at her wrist, she lowered her eyes to his.

He had known, of course he had, how much she loved the time of year. Another thing the war had taken from them. A simple joy stolen. But they had now, and the lights from the tree made her husband’s expression gentle. “You arrived home in time for the holiday,” she assured.

“And Draco?”

She shook her head. “He’ll arrive tomorrow.”

“The tree looks wonderful,” he said, running his thumb along the soft skin of her inner wrist. “You did it yourself?” he asked, his words a teased reproach.

She felt the corner of her lips tip up into a smile and pulled his arm until he stood, instead of answering. He followed her to the tree, until it loomed over them. It wasn’t hard to miss the way Lucius gaze paused on the room across the hall, the door now firmly shut. The pleading man long dead. “How long?”

Narcissa looked up at the star, she had spelled it to turn and the light from it refracted along the wooden beams of their ceiling. His question made her pull her hand from his, cross her arms against her chest. “I don’t know when they will be back. Why should I? No one tells me anything, even in my own house.”

He wouldn’t silence her words, not tonight, not when they had this rare chance to air their grievances without fear of others overhearing. Trapped in their own home, prisoners in their own Manor.

He turned her to him with a simple tug of her wrists. “It will be better when Draco--”

“What?” she spat, and her question tightened his features with a pain he usually kept hidden. “When he comes, it’s one more worry, one more thing _He_ can take from us, one more-”

His arms curled around her shoulders, pulling her into the wool of his winter cloak and the smell of him, so familiar, so much like home, did little to calm her when she thought of the horrors _He_ could do to their precious boy. Her knees weakened again, but his arms were around her, they were enough to carry her weight as she recovered.

A ragged inhale, a shake of her head. She was Narcissa Black Malfoy and this was her home, her husband, her Christmas tree in her foyer. She flicked on the radio with her wand and an instrumental version of _Angels We Have Heard On High_ played across the foyer. His hand was back in hers, pulling her so they faced one another. He kept their palms together, lifting them while his other hand slid around her waist. He stepped forward, she stepped back, and they fell into an easy waltz around the foyer.

His gaze never left hers, and his smile softened as they turned. Narcissa rested her head on his shoulder and let her eyes close. When the music changed to _White Christmas_ , it was almost as if she traveled decades back, to the Black Christmas ball, to apple cider and children laughing.

Back before the devil moved into her home.

With Lucius, she could celebrate here, in this single moment.


End file.
